


he's good like that

by iron_spider



Series: whump 2020 [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Gen, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26796865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider
Summary: “Get the hell outta here, boy,” the man says. “Or you’re gonna watch your boss die in front of you.” Then he grabs Tony by the shoulders hard, and shoves him down to his knees. The gun is louder now, like it’s filled with words that are eager to be shouted, and Tony winces when he feels the barrel press against the back of his neck. His knees weren’t ready to hit the ground that hard, and he tries to keep the pain from reaching his face.He must fail, because Peter looks pissed.“You’re not gonna shoot him, mister,” Peter says, somehow still trying to maintain a respectful tone, despite the clear anger written all over him.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: whump 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024756
Comments: 43
Kudos: 694





	he's good like that

All the interns scatter, making for the exits with a cacophony of screams that are almost as loud as the gun rattling close to Tony’s right ear. Usually that’s the ear that gives him trouble, the one that sounds far away and waterlogged on his off days. And he feels off, right now, for sure. He’d say the damn caterer turning out to be someone who wants to kill him would constitute an off day. But everything is clear in that ear, for some reason. The gun rattling in this man’s hand, the interns screaming, the alarms going off. 

He almost thinks he can hear Peter’s heartbeat.

Because Peter is the only intern who hasn’t run for the hills.

Tony knows why. A spider-shaped reason. Nobody else knows that, but Tony fucking knows, and he wishes he didn’t know. He wishes he didn’t know, because there are contingency plans for an event like this, even if Tony doesn’t have ready access to a suit. But Peter is just standing there, in front of him, gaze intent and eyes angry. He doesn’t move.

The man with the gun behind Tony doesn’t move, either. He just trembles with chaotic energy.

Tony feels insane. The Vulture shit was only six months ago and he’s been doing all he can to keep Peter out of harm’s way since that close call (much, much, much, much too close, May yelled it in Tony’s ear—the bad one, but he heard it all loud and clear), and yet still the kid flipped through a burning overturned tour bus, he leapt off the top of an apartment building without webs to save a family dog, he nearly drowned rescuing a couple of party girls from their car that dove into the Hudson—

and that shit was only last week.

And here they are, and the man’s gun is rattling even worse with building nervousness, because Peter is still standing there and Tony is afraid to even say his name, because he has a feeling. He knows what he’s gonna do. He just has a feeling. 

“Get the hell outta here, boy,” the man says. “Or you’re gonna watch your boss die in front of you.” Then he grabs Tony by the shoulders hard, and shoves him down to his knees. The gun is louder now, like it’s filled with words that are eager to be shouted, and Tony winces when he feels the barrel press against the back of his neck. His knees weren’t ready to hit the ground that hard, and he tries to keep the pain from reaching his face.

He must fail, because Peter looks pissed.

“You’re not gonna shoot him, mister,” Peter says, somehow still trying to maintain a respectful tone, despite the clear anger written all over him.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Tony says, shaking his head, which only makes the guy press the gun harder. “It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine. All good, you know I got this.”

“It doesn’t look like you got this,” Peter says, his angry mask faltering when he meets Tony’s eyes. “Looks like opposite of that.”

“Am I interrupting your conversation?” the man yells, and Peter shifts anxiously from foot to foot. “Because I know I interrupted the meeting, but I thought I had the floor when the gun came out.”

“How the hell did you even get that in here, anyway?” Tony asks, cocking his head to the side. 

“Because there’s a metal detector,” Peter adds. “Right at the same door you came in through—”

“And that thing was just updated,” Tony says, clicking his tongue. “Happy took an entire weekend to help me fix up the latest design—”

“And I know because I helped with the second revision—” Peter starts.

“And there’s all the security before you even _get_ to the metal detector—”

“Alright!” the man yells, and he knocks Tony upside the head with the gun. 

It’s not that hard. He’s Iron Man, he’s taken harder hits plenty of goddamn times, he’s been knocked around in his tin can like the contents of his luggage the first and only time he took a public flight. But his hearing goes sharp before it goes out altogether, and he sees Peter take two worried steps forward before the guy is manhandling Tony again, yanking him back by his shoulder and pressing the gun to the back of his skull.

His hearing weaves back in, just in time to hear the fear in Peter’s voice.

“Stop,” Peter says. “Stop, stop—”

“Now, this isn’t good etiquette,” Tony says, looking up at Peter, whose eyes are trained on him. “You should wait for me to be properly prepped, suited up—”

“Yeah, sure, Stark,” the man says, and Tony wonders what the hell he’s done to this guy, when he did it, whether he actually did it or not. He doesn’t even know what the goddamn plan is. All he knows is he’s got a feeling and there’s dread sinking like tar in his lungs and his knees hurt and his head is throbbing and Peter is still standing there.

Peter is gonna do something.

Peter is gonna out his very secret identity.

Tony clears his throat. “P—kid, you can go, I swear—”

Peter gives him a look and opens his mouth to talk, but the man starts talking first. That kind of manic, spit-talking, Tony can tell by his tone, and he’s glad he’s not facing him.

“Or I’ll shoot you in the face and be on my way!” the man asserts. “I don’t care! I’m done with this! I’ve been planning this for years now and some kid isn’t gonna stop me!”

“You’re not shooting him,” Tony says, vitriol boiling in his blood at the very idea. He knows there’s a team coming, he knows, he just needs Peter to _go._

“Mr. Stark, I’m gonna take care of it,” Peter says, and he’s already changing his stance, gearing up. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”

“He’s _what—_ ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tony says, more frantic now, meeting his eyes again and trying to convince him without using the words he wants to use. He knows they don’t have much time before this guy blows a gasket and shoots somebody. And that somebody isn’t gonna be Pete. He’s strong, he’s Spider-Man, but he’s not bulletproof.

_he’s a kid leaving messages on the stark server about churros and a stopped subway train and a duck he saved from a skateboard in Central Park. he’s a kid Tony should have already been paying more attention to before a plane crashed on Coney Island beach. he’s a kid fixed at Tony’s side since then, with a clipboard or a wrench or a kind word or a glowing smile or an example for everybody else, including Tony himself, and Tony’s the one with the gun to his head but he’s just worried about the damn kid—_

“It’s not fine, I’m super uncomfortable with this whole deal, so—”

“You’re uncomfortable?” the gunman spits, pushing against Tony’s shoulder so, for the moment, he’s not touching him with anything but the barrel of the gun.

It feels like time stops. Or slows. Or stands there mocking him in a clown suit. Because Tony and time have never been the best of friends. An antagonistic relationship, that’s for sure.

But suddenly Peter’s webshooters are on his wrists. Suddenly he’s stepping to the right and shooting a web and knocking the gun away from Tony’s head. The sheer force of the hit throws the guy backwards, and Peter swings over, above Tony—Tony cranes his neck, watches him in the air like he’s watching a goddamn superhero movie, swelling soundtrack and all, and Peter lands, planting his feet directly in front of the man and socking him in the face. It’s another hard blow, and the man crumples, falling to his own knees now, one hand still upraised and stuck to the wall. 

The gun is lying a few feet away, not as loud as it was before. But Tony can hear everything right now, loud and crisp and clear. And the alarm is becoming headache-inducing. 

Peter rushes over and latches onto his arm, pulling him to his feet.

“You struck first because you were uncomfortable,” Tony says, glancing at him.

“I didn’t like seeing you like that!” Peter says, more intent on looking at the back of Tony’s head. Tony can feel his hand there, like he’s feeling around for blood. “Okay, I think we’re...okay. You might have a concussion still, we need to check on that. I’ve had so many concussions.”

“Jesus Christ, Pete,” Tony says, shaking his head at him. “What did I even say about wearing your webshooters to intern meetings? After that one time?”

Peter starts leading him over to the nearest chair like he’s an old man in a retirement home, and Tony lets him. “Listen, aren’t you glad I did? This guy’s a crazy person, he had a gun to your head, and your supposed team is _still_ not here.” He sits Tony down and stands in front of him, throwing his arms out and looking around. “Where are they? Not here! Are they scaling the walls outside to get in that way? Don’t know, because they aren’t here to tell us!”

Tony snorts, because Peter is too endearing sometimes for his own good. “And what am I gonna tell them, huh, when they arrive?” He gestures over to the man, still knocked out and webbed to the wall. “That Spider-Man just swooped in, took care of shit, swung out again?”

“Yes,” Peter says, his hands on his hips. “Yeah, he’s good like that. He does that. He does that stuff.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll give you a gold star.”

“I need seven, so I’ll be ahead of Lucas. Because Happy hands out extra to Lucas just to harass me.”

Tony laughs again, hanging his head. He palms the back of his neck, and Peter comes closer and grips his shoulder. “We seriously gotta figure out how he got in here with a gun,” Tony says. “What is this, a Trader Joe’s? Jesus.”

“Maybe it’s because you didn’t let me work on the new metal detector as much as I wanted to—”

Tony looks up at him. “That’s probably it.”

“It is.”

“Because, you know, I don’t have the brain power to create a proper metal detector.”

“I mean, clearly.”

Tony grins at him, and then his team busts the goddamn door down. Just, straight off the hinges, landing on the ground, coming in with weapons drawn, the whole deal. Tony gets up, moves faster than he has in a while, and steps in front of Peter.

“Do not shoot my kid!” Tony says, without thinking, and he hears himself say it and he processes it and he tries to move on without incident. “And you guys are late.”

“Yeah!” Peter yells, from behind him, waving. “Spider-Man swung in here and took care of it! He did your job! You’re wel—you should say—you should say thank you, to Spider-Man! Send him a gift basket!”

Tony snorts, watching as the team starts slowing down, looking around, and he’s really gotta get these guys retrained. Some of them break off, head towards the gunman, and Tony turns to face the kid again. “Gift basket, earned. Chocolate pretzels will be included.”

“Oh, and the salted caramel ones the CEO of MetLife sent you that one time.”

“Fine,” Tony says, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Now, let’s go—rehash the entire security plan.”


End file.
